


The newer days of a life less permanent.

by penaltyboxed



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Drinking Responsibly, Feelings Realization, Found Family, Gay Bar, Gender Issues, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nonbinary Character, Other, no hockey no smut just poetic suffering and being gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-02-26 15:24:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23209840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penaltyboxed/pseuds/penaltyboxed
Summary: Jon watched all of his patrons. Made sure everyone was safe and was having a good time and were being responsible enough for a Friday night with their friends. Bartending was as close to a social life as Jon really had anymore, so the responsibility of staying in one spot-- keeping guard, as it were-- didn’t feel like a burden. Jon liked pouring drinks all night; he liked meeting new people and listening to their stories. He liked taking care of his regulars. He liked being a part of the community and being involved with the history that was there.He also liked to see this particular group of dudes come in every weekend and delightfully apologize for the nuanced order of cocktails they had come up with this time.He liked it when the short one with dark hair would saunter up, phone in hand, and lean across the bar to recite their orders.It’s just sometimes wished he could find it in himself to jump the bar's counter and follow after him to that big corner booth and have a spot on the uncomfortably worn leather bench, too.
Relationships: Robby Fabbri/Jonathan Bernier
Comments: 10
Kudos: 69





	The newer days of a life less permanent.

**Author's Note:**

> did anyone ask for another useless niche rarepair drw fic? No.  
did I come up with one anyways because no one else is really writing for Detroit rn so I can do whatever I want in this lawless land? Bet.
> 
> things to know:  
\- robby has kissed jon's helmet after every win and I decided to go completely off the rails about it.  
\- the temple is the oldest gay bar in detroit city limits and has been there since the 1920s.  
\- don't bitch at me about anything re:the gender I'm just trying to actualize a vision that involved lipstick and gin.  
\- please be nice to drw I promise you that they're good at hockey. rebuilds are hard. that said there is absolutely no hockey in this fic lol.  
\- comments are always delightful if you feel like it. thanks I love you

It was a Friday night, and Jon had been kind of surprised about how well behaved all his regulars were being tonight. The butches leaning up again the bar asked him to change the television to a hockey game while their girls sipped cocktails and gossiped. The old queens tipped Jon too much just because he opened a whole bottle of wine for them. He’d made an Old Fashioned for a guy wearing mid-range straight-leg denim jeans who looked very shy and far too early for a date. Jon wished him luck tonight and promised he’d keep an eye out if he needed help with anything later. It seemed to reassure him a lot, at least, and that made Jon feel good. 

Of course, it was early in the evening though, just barely seven thirty. His favorite guests didn’t usually roll up to the Temple until past eight, at _least_. He poured maybe too many beers in a row and got a thrilling change of pace when he got to card some kids with dyed hair who looked barely legal before he could make them their respective rum and cokes. 

Jon could hear the group of boys bickering loudly before they were even through the building’s cramped little foyer--

“Mo, Robby, we’re absolutely not splitting a pitcher of frozen Margarita tonight, it’s fucking cold outside.”

“But I want something with salt!”

“Oh, ew, no. Mo, Sugar-rimmed, c’mon, dude.”

“You’ll have to think of something else for the table, you cheap weirdos! No one wants a slushie when we all just needed to start wearing scarves again.”

“I do! I literally want a slushie that will get me drunk!”

Jon smiled fondly by himself when he watched the four of them pile into their regular booth-- the big leather circular one behind the pool tables, tucked up in the corner. Of course, Jon isn’t a creep. But nonetheless he kept half an eye on them as they all peeled off their coats, laughing about something, and turned away once they seemed settled. It’s kind of his job, aside from pouring drinks, to be aware of all the bar’s guests-- especially since Jimmy’s shift doesn’t start until late tonight. So; Jon watched all of his patrons. Made sure everyone was safe and was having a good time and were being responsible enough for a Friday night with their friends. Bartending was as close to a social life as Jon really had anymore, so the responsibility of staying in one spot-- to be keeping guard, as it were-- didn’t feel like a burden. Jon liked pouring drinks all night; he liked meeting new people and listening to their stories. He liked taking care of his regulars. He liked being a part of the community and being involved with the history that was there.  


He also liked to watch this particular group of boys come in every weekend and delightfully apologize for the nuanced order of cocktails they had come up with this time.  


He liked it when the short one with dark hair would saunter up, phone in hand, and stand across the bar.  


“Hi-- sorry, our order is going to be batshit tonight.” He apologized, not sheepish in the least, but he sounded tired. “We’re not all here yet so we’re guessing what everyone wants ahead of time.”  


“I think I can handle it.” Jon reassured him. “Larkin’s tab, again?”  


He nodded, an evil grin being bit back. “Oh, of course. He just got a promotion so he can cover it. Ready?” 

He was leaning across the bar now, his phone lighting up the edges of his face in white. His notes app was open with a few lines typed into it already. Jon nodded with a smile.  


“Strawberry frozen Margarita with salt on half the rim, a pint of Bell’s Two Hearted, a Vodka Soda with Grey Goose and he asked for ‘like half a lemon in there’, please. A Bloody Mary with more black pepper than seems right, and a truly virgin Shirley Temple because we have a little baby coming out tonight and his birthday isn’t until November yet.” He listed off obediently from his phone. Jon reached down for the pint glass; dealing with the draught of Two Hearted would be easiest. He did some quick math, though, and--  


“Nothing for you?”  


The guy had great eyebrows, really. Jon was a little jealous. It looked very stylish when one of them quirked up. “How do you know none of those drinks were for me?”  


“You usually order something classier than all of those.” Jon explained. His eyes lit up.  


“You remember what I order?”  


“Well, they send you up with the list most often,” Jon pointed out. He kept his eyes down when he rimmed the margarita glass in salt. “You’re my regulars, and I have a good memory. You order for everyone else first. You like gin and drinks that come in the pretty glasses.”  


He just smiled, elbows folded on the edge of the bar, phone cradled loosely in his hand now. “Well, how about you surprise me tonight, then? Something with gin in a pretty glass?”  


Jon looked up from where he was measuring the shot of tequila, a delicate excuse of a smile on his face.  


“You’ll pay for a surprise?” Jon asked, already sure of what he wanted to make for him.  


He shrugged, and bit his bottom lip a little bit before smiling wide enough to make his eyes crinkle up into crescents. “Dylan’s paying tonight, not me.”  


“A surprise it is, then. I’ll bring everything over in a minute, Robby.” Jon told him.  


Robby grinned at him-- too wide, kind of silly, actually. It looked weird next to the just-barely-there circles below his eyes, with strands of his bangs falling down in front of his face. “Thanks so much, Jon.”  


He turned and walked back to their booth. The boys greeted him with sly smiles and when Robby sat down, Anthony started elbowing him in the ribs. Dylan smiled over the table towards the bar and Jon turned away quickly, back to their drinks, so it didn’t seem like he was staring. He went through the list that Robby had given him, making everyone’s drinks and setting them up on a server’s tray. He wasn’t technically supposed to leave the bar, but it was slow and relaxed enough tonight that Jon figured he could take it over himself. He just had to finish Robby’s drink first.  


He went rifling around in a mini fridge behind the bar for a chilled mini bottle of prosecco that he _knew_ was in there still. He didn’t want to open a whole bottle of champagne just to impress a pretty guy… but he did want to impress him, at least a little bit. He poured a double shot of gin in a champagne flute, some simple syrup, juiced the other half of Dylan’s lemon, and popped the prosecco to fill up the rest of the glass. Jon carefully curled a spiral of zest as well, just-- for no reason. It just looked nicer with one.  


He turned around and found Anthony was walking up to the bar. He asked with a kind smile, “Need a hand carrying everything? It looked like a lot for one person.”  


Jon thanked Anthony and let him carry the tray back to the table. Jon cradled the stem of Robby’s cocktail in his hands while he followed behind. Anthony put the tray down on the table’s edge and everyone’s hands dove in, grabbing for their drinks. Tyler took the Bloody Mary and Shirley Temple and set them down in the middle of the table before pulling his beer close to his chest.  


“The Filips texted me they’d be here in fifteen.” He announced.  


“Dylan, tonight’s tab is on you, just so you know.” Jon said. Dylan huffed a melodramatic sigh, but laughed once Tyler elbowed him in the ribs about it.  


“I know, but thanks, Jon.” He said, bringing his Vodka Soda up to his lips. Robby leaned over Tyler’s spot in the table, and tapped Jon’s elbow lightly with his fingertips.  


“Is that my surprise?” Robby asked. Jon nodded and handed the slender glass over. The bubbles inside burst with the movement.  


“There’s still half a tiny bottle of prosecco with your name on it, though, if you want another. If you like it.” Jon explained. “It’s basically lemonade and booze. It’s stiff. More than three give me a hangover.”  


Robby’s smile was delightful. It made Jon’s chest hurt. Robby plucked the zest curl off the rim of the flute and poked it down into the fizzing bubbles. “Sounds perfect.”  


“He had a shitty day. All the way here he was bitching about needing something crazy to drink.” Tyler explained to Jon, despite the way Robby turned red.  


“What did he say in the car? ‘I’ll kiss anyone for real liquor tonight’?” Anthony asked, clearly aware that he was stirring the pot for no reason. It’d make Jon laugh if the comment hadn’t made his heart drop hard and fast behind his ribs. The idea of-- well, all of it aside, suddenly Jon was worried he should have gone for a dirty Gin and Vermouth, or a Negroni maybe, instead of the French 75. Maybe Robby would have liked something stiff and to the point rather than something sweet and silly.  


Someone kicked Anthony hard below the tabletop. He cursed, whined, and Dylan laughed. Tried not to snort Vodka through his nose.  


“I didn’t say that!” Robby said.  


“No, you just heavily implied it.” Anthony snapped back with a grin.  


Tyler was laughing at Robby, who was distracted now, and Jon realized quickly that he didn’t fit in with their group. He wasn’t their friend. It just felt terribly awkward for him to stand, empty-handed now, at the side of their table as if he was anything more than the person who made their drinks tonight. Robby’s cheeks were flushed and he looked unhappy about the teasing, but still had his fingers curled loosely around the stem of his glass. Two more dudes showed up while Jon was backing away the table. The new duo stole the group’s attention while they both shuffled into the booth and everyone had to slide sideways to make room for them.  


Anthony pointed at the new guests and introduced Jon to them.  


“Jon, this is Filip,” the one with a startling well-kept beard and a nice smile, “and Filip but that he goes by Z mostly to make our lives easier,” the younger one with pretty eyes and boyband hair. Jon smiled politely at them.  


“Z?” Jon wondered how they got that one.  


“Zadina,” He stuck a hand out, and Jon shook it awkwardly. He seemed happy enough, though.  


The table descended into greetings, familiar conversation with friends, and Jon snuck away. He moved between tables with the server’s tray tucked against his chest. He needed to get back to the bar, which was why he was here tonight in the first place. He wasn’t actually here to socialize, or make friends. He was here to pour drinks and keep to himself. It wasn’t right to loiter around their table all night, acting like an imposing freak.  


So he went back to where he belonged, and tried his best to keep his eyes away from their group for the rest of the night. He poured, and swiped cards, and barely kept up with the polite conversational exchanges he was meant to have with customers.  


Jon really did like his job; it’s just sometimes wished he could find it in himself to jump the bar's counter and follow after Robby and everyone else to that big corner booth and have a spot between them on the uncomfortably worn leather bench, too.  


* * *

  
In lulls between bar orders, sometimes Luke would creep up behind Jon at the counter and push down on his shoulders, reminding him to stop tensing up over nothing. Jon couldn’t help that-- he just held a lot of his tension physically. It had gotten worse after he had retired from drag, but still. 

He didn’t _intentionally_ spend a lot of energy posturing himself in such a way that, if he dressed up right and had a wig on with his face done right, no one would be able to tell what he might or might not be. It wasn’t as if he could untrain years of carrying himself in that specific way; it’s not even like he really wanted to, either. 

So, he would put away clean glasses with a half-heartedly sincere smile while Luke chided him about relaxing a bit for once before disappearing. Usually, Luke would reappear quickly with a small plate of fried mozzarella sticks for Jon to snack on. Then he would be truly gone again after he squeezed Jon’s shoulders and snuck back into the kitchen. His hands were always warm through Jon’s blouses. They didn’t know each other super well, but Jon liked being coworkers with Luke a lot. He was a little pretentious sometimes and wore too much gel in his bangs, but he was kind and didn’t mind checking in on Jon when all the working staff knew he was the only bartender working a longer shift. He was polite and considerate of Jon, but it didn’t seem right to say they were friends. And, Jon didn’t expect Luke to know, or really care, about the things Jon did to relax.

Jon’s apartment was always empty when he got home. Or, it was filled with Jon’s things, exactly where they were meant to be, but no one was there, which was the way Jon had gotten used to it being. Whenever he got back from his late shifts, where everything in the bar was sweaty and loud and crammed with dizzy people and Jon was simply too busy to think about anything more nuanced than cocktail recipes and being polite to strangers, his little home on the second floor was a respite. The quiet was suffocating in a pleasantly tolerable way. Jon didn’t let it bother him, though it did sometimes make his ears ring.

Besides, he liked being awake when everything else in the world was dark and spinning and sleepy. His hands would be sticky, inevitably, and he’d take care to wash them before getting undressed. Soap between his fingers. Water running to get warm and fill the tub. Buttons undone and silk pulled off his skin. Boots tugged off and left neatly by the front door. Epsom salts sitting on the edge of the porcelain, waiting for him to arrive. 

Ziggy jumped onto the counter while Jon was waiting for the tub to fill. She stepped over Jon’s little tubes of makeup and jars of skincare products that were left out on the counter. Her orange tail swished, tall and proud, and she paced carefully around the sink basin while Jon took off his face. He towelled the water out of his eyes and listened to the water. He held a hand out to let Ziggy run the sides of her face over his knuckles affectionately before she complained about Jon moving away to where she couldn’t easily bother him anymore.

It was practically a ritual, to watch the salts dissolve. To sink down into the hot water and pretend he didn’t have a body for a little while. To draw the curtain and trap the clouds of steam. To let the heat sink into his bones and joints while the epsom cleared his head. It always took a while but when Jon decided he was calm enough he would run his hands over the soft edges of his ribs, his chest, his hips. Stare vacantly at the distorted pattern of his tattoos beneath the water. He’d hold a thumb and finger around his own delicate wrists, wondering if he needed to be worried about how thin they were, because it wasn’t like anyone else noticed these things about him. Tonight, he traced a fingertip around the bend of his elbow, where Robby had tapped him earlier, and swallowed some weird feelings back. It’d be boiling hot, and quiet, until Ziggy would stick her head beneath the bath-curtain and paw gently at the water. 

“If you get yourself wet, you don’t get to be mad at me later.” Jon said to her.

Ziggy continued to dip her paws. Jon flicked some hot water in her face. She meowed, betrayed and upset by such a cruel action against her. Her whiskers twitched.

“It’s your own dumb fault for coming in here, baby.” 

Ziggy meowed again, and then she disappeared. The curtain swayed with the movement of her leaving. Jon sunk down into the water until his mouth and nose were below the water level and he tried really hard to not think about anything. He focused on the temperature of the water, which was rapidly cooling off now. That, technically, was thinking about something, but it was better than thinking about warm hands with chipped up nail polish holding onto a champagne flute. 

Jon stayed still like that until the water was too cold, and the only way to save the bath was to drain half and refill it, which was more work than Jon was willing to put in. Plus, his fingertips were wrinkled now, anyways. It wasn’t cute. 

Ziggy was curled up on Jon’s pillows, when he had finally pulled himself out of the tub and got changed into something soft and warm for the night. There were little footsteps across the top of the blankets, tracing out the way she had taken up the bed. Jon smoothed them out, loose-limbed from the bath, and laid down at the headboard next to her, half asleep before he was horizontal.  


* * *

  
Anthony craned his entire body downwards towards the pool table, trying to figure out what shot to take. His cue was held lightly in one hand. Jon was half-watching the game from behind his spot at the bar. There wasn’t much else to do tonight, anyways.

“Mo, just take your turn already.” Dylan complained. Robby was leaning heavily on his pool cue, and they both were clearly bored with the wait. 

“I’m doing strategic surveying!” 

“You’re probably cheating, somehow.” Robby said. Anthony made a face. Tyler and Filip started to laugh. Jon glanced away from the stagnant game to make a customer-- some guy with an impeccably well-trimmed beard and two full sleeves of tattoos out for the world to see despite the cold weather-- his third Vodka Cranberry of the night. Jon was getting sick of him and his backwards snapback. The bar wasn’t particularly busy tonight; the cold shift in the temp that afternoon had kept most people at home. Jon could clearly hear the clatter of the pool balls rattling around the table over the sparse crowd. He was busy making the guy his drink, but there was a loud crack that echoed around the room. It was followed almost immediately by Dylan shouting and laughing. Robby and Anthony groaned and began bitching about whatever happened. Jon had to peer over Vodka Cranberry’s big ass shoulders to catch a glimpse of Dylan throwing his arms over Robby and Anthony’s necks, pulling them in for a celebratory hug that only he looked happy about. 

Dylan was making enough of a ruckus that more than just Jon had been watching when he pulled Robby and Anthony over to the bar, Tyler and the Filips following close behind like stray puppies. It looked incredibly awkward, half because of Anthony’s height, half because Robby apparently was wearing heels tonight and really looked as if being pulled along was going to make him fall flat on his face. Jon didn’t see the shoes, but he could hear the recognizable clicking of a heel and knew exactly what the uneven weight shift Robby was stumbling through felt like. 

“Shots! Jon, I’m buying us celebration shots!” Dylan said, clearly already buzzed and edging on too-excited just going off the tone and volume level of his voice. 

“What do you want?” Jon asked while he counted heads and pulled out six shot glasses. He lined them all up neatly in a row. 

He asked for something that sounded potentially like ‘Bacardi’ but Jon wasn’t sure, because Anthony and Robby and Z each shouted out what they wanted at the same time, voices overlapped incoherently. Jon just stared. Robby reached a hand out across the counter and stopped short of touching Jon’s elbow.

“Hendrick’s or I’ll die.” He seemed serious. Filip elbowed his way to the front of the crowd, fitting snugly between Dylan and Robby. Jon threw Robby an apologetic smile and grabbed the rum from the shelf behind him. Before he poured, Z stopped him, putting a hand flat over the tops of the glasses, which was a little gross, but-- 

“Jon, where’s yours?” He asked.

Jon blinked at him, “Mine?”

Dylan looked from Z, to Jon, and down over the bar to count the empty little glasses. He gasped. “Oh no, Jon, I’m buying you one too.” 

“You don’t--” Jon said before Filip cut him off.

“Don’t say you’re a bartender who doesn’t drink on the job! I’ve seen you!” He said, grinning evilly. Jon shook his head. 

“Dylan, you don’t need to buy me one.” Jon said, trying to be gracious and not self-inviting. Everyone booed. Anthony leaned far across and behind the bar, reaching a long arm down to try and grab an extra shot glass but mostly he just endangered the glassware down there. Jon shouted a little bit and grabbed Anthony’s wrist, put it back where it belonged. The boys all started chanting Jon’s name, and cheered excitedly once he pulled out one more shot glass and quickly lined it up with the rest. Z pulled his hand away and Jon picked up the Bacardi bottle again. 

“May I?” Jon asked, and Dylan’s eyes sparkled. He kept his hand fast and evenly paced, filling each shot up to the brim without spilling too much over. Jon bit his lip to keep from smiling too much when Robby and Tyler both made impressed noises. 

Seven hands reached across the bar and grabbed a glass. Anthony lifted his shot up, and everyone followed suit.

“To Dylan, apparent king of the poolsharks, and to Robby for sitting through the whole game even though he just wanted to hike his leg up on the edge of the table to be sexy.” Anthony said. Everyone laughed and Jon wondered when the hell he missed that. They all threw back their shots and only Dylan and the Filips were smart enough to exhale after. Anthony and Dylan shared a look, and told Jon to pour one more round. So he did, and everyone threw them back just as neatly as well. Jon smiled to himself while began to tuck the glasses away-- it was always nice to be included. He hadn’t been in a long time, by anyone. Robby hung around after the crowd of boys moved away, back to the booth, still leaning up on the bar.

“I think I asked for Hendrick’s?” He asked.

“Want that with tonic or not?” Jon asked, just to be polite. He knew the answer already. He brought out two more shot glasses. 

“If we’re doing shots we might as well keep doing shots.” Robby was smiling. It made Jon feel good, though the ones they’d already done had started to make him feel lightheaded.

“I like the way you think.”

Jon poured two shots of the gin. He raised his up and Robby clinked the tiny edge of his with Jon’s. They both drank and Robby came out on the other side much more giggly than he had been moments ago. 

“I didn’t get to see your shoes, yet.” Jon said once Robby settled down a bit. His eyes went wide-- shocked-- and he hiked a foot up onto the edge of the counter to show off, a ballerina doing barre stretches. They were chunky heels, black and closed-toe with a delicate buckle strap around the ankle. Simple, but they suited Robby well. Jon grinned wide and Robby tucked some hair behind his ear. 

“Aren’t they pretty?” He asked, his voice light and airy. Jon nodded, because they were. “I wanted to try them out before there was snow on the ground.”

Jon kept busy, putting away the bottle of Hendrick’s. “Can I give some advice?” 

“Is it gonna be about standing?”

“Yep.”

Robby laughed again and nodded. Jon thought about the queens who dressed him up when he was a teen and taught him how to do this, too. Said, “You need to keep your shoulders back. And walk with your heels, not on your toes. It helps with posture so you don’t fall over or walk so stiffly.”

Robby squinted a little bit, appraising Jon-- or maybe appraising the advice-- but before he could speak, Tyler appeared at his side, redirecting all attention. 

“Rob, Filip wants to arm wrestle someone, wanna come beat his ass into the ground so I can win ten bucks?” When Tyler smiled there was a black hole where he was missing a tooth that Jon consciously had to not stare at. Robby contemplated.

“Which Filip?”

“Hronek.”

“Okay, fuck. Yeah, I could win that.” Robby seemed confident. It made Jon want to laugh, but he didn’t know exactly about what. 

“Attaboy! C’mon then.” Tyler grinned wickedly while he ushered Robby away towards the booth where Filip was rolling up a sleeve and flexing one arm threateningly at Anthony. Tyler had a hand on Robby’s waist. Robby turned back, just for a second, looked over his shoulder and smiled about how Jon was still watching. He threw his shoulders back and marched out of Tyler’s hand and into Filip’s.  


* * *

  
Robby and Tyler had been sitting at the far end of the bar for a while, keeping to themselves. The Temple itself was kind of packed tonight, which was a good thing, but Jon wasn’t in the mood for a lot of the small problems that had been popping up. Not that it was hard to manage, because Jon was a pro at this point, but because Jon couldn’t stop glancing toward the clock. Moritz and Jimmy were supposed clock in soon, meaning Darren and Jon could chill out for a fucking minute. Meaning, he can actually pay attention to Robby and Tyler for a while. 

It was three orders of beers before Jimmy rushed through the door and ducked into the kitchen, waving brightly, blue eyes sparkling across the room at Jon, despite how out of breath he seemed. He always thought he was late, but had only been early to shifts the entire time they had been working at Temple together, as far as Jon knew. 

“That your replacement?” Tyler asked, stretching his arms down the bar, reaching across towards Jon. “So can you hang out soon?”

Jon swiped a customer’s card through the register and handed it back with a polite smile once it cleared. He was ignoring Tyler and Robby’s shouts for his attention. 

“Pleeease?” Robby asked, dragging the word out so Jon _had_ to look over at them. Tyler even had his puppy eyes on. Jon held out with a cold heart and shook his head.

“I’m letting him clock in first, at least, Bert. I’m still working.” Jon said. Tyler groaned and sat back into his seat. Robby pouted, and picked up his glass. He slammed the rest of his Martini in a smooth, singular gulp. Jon just blinked at them from the opposite end of the bar. Tyler laughed out, loud enough that it rattled around the air, over the heads in the crowded bar.

“Jon! Robby’s drink is broken! We need you to tend to us at the bar, please!” 

Jon couldn’t stop the laugh that came out of his chest. He walked down to where they were sitting and watched their faces light up. 

“Another Martini?” Jon took Robby’s empty glass away and reached him down a new one, one without fingerprints along the glass. Robby’s eyes were bright and a little sleepy. He nodded happily. “Bert?”

“I’m good, I still got half a beverage here.” Tyler said. Robby put his head down on his arms over the bar, a makeshift pillow. 

“Jon?” He asked. Jon measured out the gin into the shaker. 

“Yeah?”

“Your makeup looks really nice tonight. The lipstick color is great.” 

Tyler just smiled into his beer, pointedly not saying anything but still meeting Jon’s eye, conspiratorial. Robby batted his eyelashes. Jon nearly knocked over the cocktail shaker but saved it from spilling at the last second. Disaster avoided. 

“Uh,” Jon said, ignoring the heat creeping up the back of his neck, “Thanks. Thank you.” 

“Robby keeps bugging me about wanting to try it out,” Tyler told Jon, “But I’m like, _brah,_ do I look like the kind of guy who knows anything about makeup? Seriously.” 

“S’not like Dylan’s gonna teach me about lipstick, dude. For a crowd of gay dudes, you all are kind of useless.” Robby said. Tyler just shrugged.

“Well… I may know someone who knows a thing or two about lipstick.” Jon said, trying to keep his voice light while he shook the hell out of Robby’s Martini. “If you’re curious.”

Robby’s eyes lit up, and he sat up properly in his barstool. Jimmy snuck behind Jon, one of his big hands patting Jon’s shoulder while he passed to let Jon know he had arrived. Jon poured the Martini and smiled politely down towards the other end of the bar, where Jimmy was starting to take inventory of the register’s contents. He grinned back and then nodded off towards the kitchen, _Go take five minutes, bud, I can handle this_.

“I could be curious… ” Robby said.

“Christ, he definitely already is.” Tyler added in his two cents. It made Jon grin. “Please help him.”

“I think Howie’s got it from here. Let me run into the back and find my lipstick?” Jon didn’t want to seem too eager to paint Robby’s lips, but like, he thought this was an okay thing to indulge in. It didn’t need to be a huge deal. Robby looked absolutely delighted. 

“Meet ya in the bathroom, then.” Robby’s slight accent didn’t come out often, but Jon liked to catch glimpses of it when he could. Vaguely Southern in an inexplicable kind of way. He slid the finished Martini across the bar and then headed for the little hinged door that separated the prep area behind the bar and the general sitting space. His coat was hung up in a little hallway between the bar and the kitchen, and his tube of lipstick should still be hidden away in one of the pockets there.

Robby had been waiting for Jon, leaned up against the wall next to the bathroom doors with his wrists crossed down in front of him. He was fiddling with the hem of his sweater sleeve, passing the time until Jon arrived, lipstick in hand. 

Jon couldn’t help his smile. He led Robby into the women’s, “The lighting in the men’s room is terrible.”

And it was, the bulbs in the women’s were a soft yellow light that was flattering, rather than the white energy-saving LED ones in the men’s. Despite how loud it was out in the actual bar and around the tables tonight, it was muffled and quiet in the bathroom. Jon’s ears rung with the sudden decrease in volume.

Robby nodded along, put a hand gently on Jon’s elbow. Jon uncapped the lipstick and twisted the bullet up. It was a deep maroon color that made Jon’s eyes look brighter, but would definitely just be sultry on Robby. Clara Bow red, vampy in all her glory, ready to be bestowed on a particularly handsome guy in a gay bar’s bathroom. Jon leaned up and back against the sinks, so Robby could look forward over Jon’s shoulder and see what Jon did in the mirror.

“I wear this one a lot, sorry.” Jon said while Robby brushed some of the longer strands of his hair back out of his face.

“That’s fine. I said I liked the color, didn’t I?” He had to tilt his head up for Jon.

Jon’s hand hovered in the air by Robby’s shoulder, uncertain where the line was-- 

“Do you mind if I touch you?” 

“Go for it.” Robby smiled up at him, all easy confidence with the points of his teeth shining white and slightly dangerous. 

Jon carefully curled his left hand around Robby’s jaw and neck, delicate. Jon worried about his hands being cold. He cleared his throat.

“Part your lips a little bit for me.” Jon said, and Robby did. “I learned this from some old queens in Quebec when I was a teenager, so it’s tried and true.”

Robby’s eyes furrowed a little bit, head tilted just ever so slightly confused, curious maybe, but Jon went for his mouth before he could have asked anything. Jon hadn’t done drag in a long time, and the story was a bit sad. He didn’t really want to explain it all right now. He started at Robby’s cupid’s bow, and rolled the color out along one side of his upper lip. 

“It’s not good to drag the flat end of the bullet, it goes on more smoothly if you roll the whole tube as you go.” 

He didn’t know when he started whispering. He finished the other side of the cupid’s bow in a practiced movement, tracing the shape of Robby’s lip. Robby pressed in a little bit closer, so he was standing solidly between Jon’s legs. Jon moved his thumb up, pressing lightly on Robby’s chin to make his lower lip pout out a bit more. He could feel the slightest hint of stubble along Robby’s skin catch on the pad of his thumb. He swiped the bullet across his lower lip as well. 

“The corners are tough, I use a lip brush at home, but we can wing it right now with the edge of it.” Jon didn’t know why his voice felt so tight inside his throat, inside his chest. Robby just blinked up at him, his eyes all wide and dark. Jon remembered, a beat too late, to take his hand away from holding onto Robby’s jaw.

Robby still had him pressed up-- caged in. The sink’s edge was pressed against the small of his back, in a spot between vertebrae. Jon put the cap back on the lipstick. 

“Well?” Robby smiled. Jon traced the outline of Robby’s lip with the side of his thumb, evening out the line of color. 

“It looks lovely.” Jon promised. Robby held onto Jon’s bicep and leaned sideways, finally bothering to look in the mirror. 

“Oh my god? I look like a heartbreaker in like, a fun, sexy way.” Robby was grinning. “This is so sick. I told Dylan I’d look great.” 

Jon couldn’t help but laugh a little bit. It was hard not to be charmed by Robby, even if he wasn’t trying to be charming. Jon guided Robby backwards a little bit with a hand on his hip so he could step away. He wondered if every point of contact they’d just had was aching like a phantom dry-ice burn for Robby as well. Residual heat in the perfect shape of a hand.

“If it’s any consolation, you usually look great, anyways.” That compliment got Robby to glance away from the mirror.

“You don’t have to be nice, Jon.” He went back to making faces in the reflection, seeing how the lipstick softened his features into something a little more feminine.

Jon shrugged, said, “I always like your outfits,” instead of something infinitely more embarrassing. 

“I didn’t know that. You like my outfits?” 

Robby certainly looked gay enough when he came to the bar; delicate shirts with dropped necklines, big cardigans in dark patterns to accomodate for the weather. His hair was usually tied pinned back out of his eyes in a ponytail that wasn’t quite long enough to stay in place for very long. He wore drop earrings that dangled along his jawline. More recently, the barest hint of makeup had been making an appearance. Real classic femme shit. The lipstick pulled it all together, in a way.

“I do.” Jon said. “Of course I do.” 

Robby stared up at Jon, cheeks gone red beneath the yellow lights, but before he could say anything the bathroom door opened up. A crowd of girls walked by them at the sinks, sparing a second glance at the two of them but not saying anything. Jon tried to seem at home here, because if he wasn’t at home in a crowded bathroom with a bunch of drunk girls, then where else would he be? They were all loud and walking in their heels with shocking stability. With a gentle, barely-there hand on Robby’s shoulder, Jon guided him out of the bathroom and back to the bar, where Tyler had finished off Robby’s martini and was keeping two extra seats at the busy bar safe.  


* * *

  
The Temple’s shift schedule rarely made sense, but more often than anyone else on staff, Jon worked the longest shifts. Afternoon to midnight Tuesdays through Saturdays. Slow paced until it gradually ramped up into whatever weekend party and his feet were sore because he had been standing for nearly nine hours again without realizing what time it was.

Jon’s regulars didn’t show up until it was nearly dark outside and he’d have to remember to flip the switch for the floodlights outside that lit up the sidewalk pavement. 

He didn’t know why Robby had shown up at the bar about three hours earlier than Jon was anticipating him and his boys to show up. Jon was still drying off damp glasses that were fresh from the dishwasher and placing them along the shelf behind the bar. 

He walked cautiously between tables, like he was unused to the building in daylight. 

“Hi,” He said when Jon had spotted him. 

“You are… suspiciously early,” is what Jon had said back. Robby nodded sheepishly. 

“We technically aren’t open for another half hour but I won’t kick you out in the cold.” The sun was out today but it didn’t do much against the biting winds that barreled through the city from off the river.

“Oh, thanks. It’s windy as fuck outside right now. Flurries and shit.” Robby waved a hand through the air, mimicking said snow flurries and shit. 

Jon wiped off the rim of a pint glass and kept his eyes down. The towel was already damp and he wasn’t sure if it was actually drying anything off now, or if it was just spreading around water streaks. Robby slowly took a seat at the bar, across from the register where Jon was standing. It was quiet, except for the dulcet tones of Moritz rapping along with the radio in the kitchen. Jon wasn’t sure if it was polite to ask why Robby thought hanging out in an empty bar for an afternoon was a smart choice. He wouldn’t flatter himself like that.

“Can I help?” Robby finally asked, hands spread out neatly over the bar counter, uneasy. “With anything?”

Jon shook his head. “Not unless you want to help Mo with the last of the dishes and tidying up the kitchen in the back.” 

Robby made a face and picked at the sad remains of nailpolish on his fingers. Jon put one glass away and picked up a new one. Tried not to notice the fidgeting. Said, “Wanna go spread out coasters on all the tables?” 

“I’m a little overqualified for that, I think.” Robby folded his fingers neatly together, joints braided between knuckles. Jon smiled. Robby smiled back, shy.

“You and me both, but the coasters still need to make it to tables.” Jon put his towel down on the bar. 

“Could I-- just say some kind of embarrassing stuff instead?” Robby asked, kept his tone very even. Jon folded his arms down, crossed on the other side of the bar. 

“Sure. What good is a bartender if they can’t play therapist for a while?” Jon was aiming for a joke but it clearly had fallen a bit flat. Robby smiled to be polite and then cleared his throat. 

“When I was like, really little, I got yelled at a lot.” Robby said after a little pause, shifting awkwardly in his seat. Jon already didn’t like the start of this story. 

“My parents were-- y’know, they are good people, they love me, but they got on me a lot about how I was supposed to act. And look. I dunno. But I’d dress up in my mom’s clothes, when I was a kid, and um-- well. It wasn’t great when they’d found out. So I, uh, pushed that kind of thing away for a long time?” Robby was staring at his hands, clearly trying not to be tensed up and nervous. It was hard to see Robby so hesitant and still. He looked wound up like a spring, tense and waiting for something to happen. Jon was so used to the idea of him being delicate and loose and always comfortable with how he moved. He was used to seeing Robby dance with his friends and lean on their shoulders like he was perfectly warm and happy all of the time. Jon wished that Robby would look up from the bar, so that he could do something to help. 

“So it wasn’t until I moved out, basically, that I got to like. Relax, y’know?” Jon nodded while Robby continued on. 

“And it was really scary even just growing my hair out, like, I’d get texts every week asking when I was going to a barber’s, but-- and sorry, I know this is so lame,” Robby smiled apologetically at the countertop. “But going out with the boys and always seeing you so confident and always dressed up, um, helped me a lot. At least. And then with the lipstick and everything… ”

Jon was pretty sure his heart was going to drop out of his chest any second now. Robby finally looked up, eyelashes just a little bit damp, goofy smile still on his face. 

“So-- I, I just wanted to say thanks. For that, inadvertently, I guess. Before it was midnight and I was wasted and shouting over a crowd and you were like, exhausted for the night or something and waiting for everyone to go home.” 

Jon was quiet, probably for a beat too long, just trying to process. Robby looked terribly strange. Shy and sorry and awaiting something in the shape of rejection. Jon cleared his throat and leaned across the bar, folded his hands up in the same way Robby had. He stuck a pointer finger out, and traced it up and down Robby’s knuckles. 

“Are you gonna come back to the bar tonight?” Jon asked, quiet amongst the empty space of the bar in waking hours.

“Probably,” Robby said, opening up his hands a bit, “If I didn’t just embarrass myself too much.” 

Jon shook his head, stared at their hands, like they were little animals that acted of their own accord. Robby’s hand was larger than Jon’s but they still fit together nicely. 

“No, of course not. I just don’t really know what to say.” Which was true. Jon had replies racing through his head and knew none of them would work. So he didn’t say anything. 

“That’s fine-- I know it was like, probably too much. Or--” Robby stammered.

“I’m glad to… help, even if it was just a little bit, Robby. I like helping. I’m happy to know about it.” Jon said, slow and careful. It was hard to comprehend the fact that anyone even looked at Jon behind the bar, with his short beard because he didn’t care about shaving anymore, with his smudged eyeliner and too-dark lipstick, and thought anything remarkable about him, much less felt reassured by his mere existence. It was baffling that Robby even thought about Jon when Jon wasn’t right in front of him with a drink to hand over. It was almost too much. Robby smiled at where their hands were tangled up before he cleared his throat a little bit and pulled back. Jon let him go. 

“I am gonna leave, now, though and feel weird for a couple hours.” He sounded shy. Jon laughed a breath out.

“Okay.”

“I’ll come back tonight.” Robby said while he got off the barstool. 

“You better.” Jon told him.

Robby smiled at Jon, glanced down towards the bar, and picked up a few of the cardboard coasters near the register that were up for grabs when someone ordered. He walked backwards, and placed the coasters down on the tabletops as he went. Jon couldn’t help the smile on his face. Robby waved from the doorway, Jon waved back, and Robby stepped out into Cass Avenue’s chilly afternoon sunlight. Jon was left in the dimly lit bar, behind the counter, where everything was empty and familiar. He sighed, and twisted up a damp towel in his hands.  


* * *

  
“Guys, we’re closing in twenty minutes.” Jon announced when he began flipping chairs up and onto the tables for the night. Luke was on the other side of the bar sweeping up. Darren and Moritz were in the kitchen finishing up dishes. “Last men standing have to figure out how they’re going home now, please.”

Tyler and Robby let out a perfectly timed chorus of drunk complaints. Dylan was trying really hard to stop laughing about something but threw a thumbs up in Jon’s direction. Z hauled himself out of the booth, stumbling just a little, and looked very small and sweet when he walked up to Jon.

“Can you-- please and thank you-- get us some waters? If you have a second?” His bangs were falling in his eyes, just long enough to be annoying, and Jon wanted to teach him about bobby pins. 

“Sure thing, Z.” Jon promised him. Z even helped finish the chairs at a few tables while Jon ducked back behind the bar to get everyone a round of water. Everyone was tired but he didn’t want to send the dipshits out into the icy roads without at least a vague attempt to sober them up. When he brought the tray of waters over to the table, Anthony and Dylan were bickering about how to get everyone home. 

“Rob drove with me!” Tyler interjected. “I grabbed him from work and we came here!”

“Yeah, dude, but you’re fucking hammered.” Anthony reminded him. “I’m taking you home. You can get your car tomorrow.”

“Oh, dope. Okay.” 

“Rob lives across town from you too, Bert. My car isn’t big enough for someone else if I’m taking Z and Hronek.”

“Oh, Lark is taking us home?” Filip asked from where he was snuggled in against Z’s shoulder. He was done for the night, it made Jon smile a bit. Z mumbled something about letting him lie down in the backseat. Dylan nodded like it was obvious, like, _of course_ he was taking them home. 

Robby finally jumped in, “M’phone’s this close to being dead.” He sounded exhausted, “So unless someone wants to buy my Lyft back to Corktown--” 

“You’re in Corktown?” Jon asked. Heads turned. Robby rubbed at an eye, smearing his mascara a little bit, but he nodded. 

“My place is near the old train station, I--” Jon worried about overstepping when he spoke. “I could take you home if you don’t mind waiting for me to finish up, if that’s alright.”

Robby seemed to love the idea. Dylan looked relieved, rather than suspicious, which was more than Jon had been expecting. 

“Jon, every weekend you are a lifesaver, I’m not kidding.” Anthony said, which made Jon feel kind of embarrassed, for some reason.

“It’s not an issue, I’d rather take him home than make him walk, or something. Rideshares are scary after eleven.” Jon explained, suddenly joined by Robby at his elbow. 

Tyler snorted a laugh back and Robby leaned up into Jon for a hug in front of them all. He stuck his face against Jon’s neck and whispered, “You’re the _best_, Jon.” 

Jon set him back down lightly on the bench of the booth. He was kind of… floppy-drunk. Easy to move around. It helped that Jon was bigger than Robby, but still. Robby was drunk. Like, really drunk. Jon wanted to be careful with him.

Dylan tapped Jon before everyone left, asking to trade numbers just in case. Jon obliged. 

“Will you promise me he won’t die if he gets home with you? Like, it’ll be fine but still.” Dylan asked while handing his phone over to Jon. 

“He’ll be fine, I swear. I’ll idle in the road until he gets in and turns the lights on and everything. I’ll text you, if you want.” Jon promised. Dylan smiled and turned to herd the Filips out into his shitty truck, one of the few cars left in the parking lot. 

Closing up went faster once the boys had left. Robby stayed curled up in the booth as he waited. He waved and said good-night to the rest of the bar staff when Jon finally got him outside and into his car. 

Robby had his face sort of pressed up against the car’s window when he finally asked, “Can I just go home with you?” 

The snow and dark had made the streets of Detroit empty. Jon gripped the wheel and considered his options. 

“I’m not gonna sleep with you when you’re too drunk to get home by yourself.” 

Robby barked out a stupid laugh that dissipated into silly giggles. He slipped down in the passenger seat a little. “Noo-- I just, wanna have a sleepover. Not a sexy one. Well, like--” 

“A not-sexy sleepover?” Jon asked. Talking to drunk people was always a joy. When he glanced over, Robby was bright red and smiling stupidly.

“Is it embarrassing t’say I wanna have a sexy sleepover eventually? But, like, just-- not right now?” 

Jon tried to focus back on the road, still smiling. “It’s very embarrassing.” 

Robby laughed and nodded, and they fell into a silence, Robby nodding off a bit in the passenger seat. At the red light before Jon turned into his neighborhood, he asked, “Are you allergic to cats?” 

“Nope,” Robby popped the P in word, apparently still awake over there. “I’m really dizzy though.” 

“We can have a not-sexy sleepover, then, I guess. I’ll make you coffee tomorrow.” 

“Am I gonna have to pay for that too?” 

“Nah, coffee’s free if you’re cute when you’re hungover.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Deal.”

It wasn’t much of an effort to haul Robby up the stairs of his building’s front steps. Robby was small enough, and still pliant from the booze, that Jon probably could have just carried him there if he wanted to. Needed to. Whatever. He kept a hand on Robby’s waist when he unlocked his door and guided Robby through the kitchen and into the bedroom. It just took some quick decision making while they stumbled through Jon’s apartment-- it felt polite to give a very drunk guest his bed, but there was nowhere for Jon to sleep otherwise, except the couch could make do in a pinch, Jon guessed. Not like he hadn’t slept on one before. Robby would take the bed. 

Jon set him down onto the mattress. Robby rolled over onto his stomach, groaning.

“Oh my god, your pillows smell really good,” He sounded tired and very drunk still. Jon smiled a tiny bit and went to help pry Robby’s shoes off before he was truly passed out for the night. 

“My feet hurt a lot.” Robby whined.

“Wearing heels all night does that.” Jon reminded him gently. 

“But you do it all th’ time…”

“Well, I’ve got more experience lasting all night in stilettos than you.” Jon said while he undid the microscopic buckles around Robby’s ankles and tugged the heels off. He sat them upright on the floor near the bed for Robby to find tomorrow. Robby giggled about something and pressed his face into Jon’s pillows. Jon’s heart turned over strangely in his chest while he watched Robby settle in between the sheets. He felt lightheaded.

“Robby? Are you gonna be alright?”

Robby groaned something, a barely awake hum of recognition. Jon pushed on Robby’s shoulders so he was curled up on his side rather than his stomach. “M’not gonna puke.”

“Well, stay on your side anyways for me, okay?”

Robby nodded, with his eyes closed. His dark eyelashes fanned out over the tops of his cheeks. 

“Seriously. If you’re gonna vomit, don’t get it on my sheets.” Jon warned him. Robby exhaled a soft laugh and probably fell asleep. Jon sat on the edge of the bed, for an extra moment, watching Robby’s breath even out, just to be sure. He sat on the floor, in the dark bedroom, trying to shoot a text to Dylan explaining that Robby fell asleep and was staying the night with Jon while simultaneously plugging in his phone. The message had been sent, and Jon folded a blanket over an arm, walked out into the front room.  


* * *

  
Jon woke up with the barest hints of sunlight coming through the front room’s windows. As he anticipated, he slept terribly. At this point in his adult life, he really tried to never sleep on couches anymore; it just dragged up too many residual physical memories of making himself small and cramped to fit on uncomfortable cushions. Of waking up exhausted and sore and out of place because of it. His neck and shoulders hurt. Ziggy had even spent the night in Jon’s room with Robby, the little traitor. At least this time, though, Jon woke up at home in a place he belonged, rather than some relative stranger’s living room. He got up and went to start the coffee, trying to shake off the feeling of being seventeen again. 

Jon didn’t have the counterspace for a real coffee machine. He was measuring out scoops of ground coffee into his French Press when the shadow of Robby finally emerged in the hallway. The image, the sensation of someone else in his apartment, kind of startled Jon. Robby was busy rubbing at his face with one hand, because the other arm held Ziggy up against his chest. Jon looked away instinctually, his back towards Robby.

“Sorry, I took your bed-- Oh my god,” Robby said through a yawn, and then his voice hitched. Jon looked over his shoulder. Robby’s eyes were wide, face gone bright red while he stared. Jon gracefully remembered that he wasn’t wearing a shirt because the radiators in the front room are insane and he had started sweating in the middle of the night. He felt his own face get hot, and rushed past Robby into the hallway towards his bedroom to grab a sweater, or, like, anything at all. In the kitchen, Robby cleared his throat. 

“You could have thrown me on the couch! Your cat is really nice.” 

Jon emerged again in a black pullover, ratty as hell and incredibly soft. He was beyond embarrassed. 

“Sorry about that. Um,” 

“Literally, holy shit, don’t be.” Robby was grinning wildly. Jon just walked back to the counter to finish the coffee. “I didn’t realize you had that many tattoos.”

Jon pressed the plunger of the French Press down, keeping his eyes focused and down. “Uh, yeah. They’re kinda everywhere but I don’t-- I don’t get to show them off often. But, um, she’s kind of evil, actually. The cat, I mean. Her name is Ziggy.”

“Like… the Bowie song?” Robby sounded amused. His voice was low and scratchy, a combination of the fact it was morning and that he was hungover as hell. The little bell on Ziggy’s collar jingled when she jumped out of Robby’s arms. From the floor, she jumped to a windowsill, and then onto the counter to say good morning to Jon. He rubbed her ears and she began purring softly. She wasn’t a very loud cat. 

“Yep. Screwed up eyes and screwed down hair-do. She was the only calico at the shelter when I got her and she would blink really slowly, like, once every twenty minutes.” Jon explained. “I thought something might have been wrong with her, but she just has nightmare eyes.”

“That’s adorable.” Jon finally had to look at Robby directly when he turned to reach down some mugs. His clothes were rumpled from sleeping in them and his mascara was a little bit smudged. He looked hungover. He smiled at Jon and everything got a little brighter.

“Do you need, like, a water? Ibuprofen?” 

“I think the coffee will be fine, I feel bad about taking the bed enough as it is. Can’t steal all your Advil, too.” 

Jon poured the coffee and Robby found a spot at Jon’s little kitchen table. The sight made Jon’s heart go fast enough to hurt. “You didn’t steal the bed.”

“Hm?” 

“I gave it to you.” Jon handed Robby a mug. “I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

Robby made a face. Jon didn’t sit down, but he hovered near the table. He didn’t know how to act at home with someone watching-- if he should put on his customer service voice or just relax, for once in his life, and enjoy the fact that Robby wasn’t put together but was sipping coffee in Jon’s kitchen. 

“You didn’t want _me_ to be uncomfortable so _you_ slept on the couch?” Robby asked.

Jon shrugged. “It seemed like you needed it more.” 

Robby curled both hands around his mug. It was an antique one that Jon had found in an Eastern Market estate sale when he first moved to Detroit and realized he had nothing useful in his apartment. A quietly cherished possession. 

“So, you like to give people things?” Robby asked, staring at the steam of his coffee. It took Jon wildly off guard, as if this situation wasn’t already difficult enough to navigate.

“How-- how do you mean?” 

“Well, like, your job is giving out drinks, right? You give us free snacks a lot, too, because Dilly hoards receipts and always worries about not paying for it. You gave me a ride home, and then you gave me your bed. You even let me hug your cat all night. So… you like to take care of people?” 

Jon felt like he was just given a case of emotional whiplash for free. He had no idea what to say, because he wasn’t confident that anyone else had ever bothered to notice these things about him. The back of his neck was burning. Robby just smiled shyly up at him. Ziggy was perusing the counter, even though she knew she wasn’t allowed to stand up there.

“Um--” Jon shook his head quickly, put his own coffee down, and scooped Ziggy up off the counter. He threw her gently into the front room. He’d wipe the counter down later. He turned back around and Robby was just smiling like he couldn’t be more content.

“Ziggy is a monster and I have no control over her decisions.” Jon said, like that was a suitable thing to say. He cringed at himself, and Robby laughed. Ziggy’s bell went jingling as she ran back into the kitchen as a protest. She sat beneath Robby’s chair and stared at Jon, unblinking.

“Sorry, Mo’s just found out about these like, different ways people connect with others. Like, spending time together or giving gifts to people or talking to them a lot. Stuff like that. He kept going on about it last night.” Robby put his hands away, chipping up the remains of his nail polish with his thumbnail. Jon was going to go insane. “Guess I’m still thinking about it.”

“So you got me all figured me out, then?” Jon was still a little breathless, but he was grinning now, at least. “I have nail polish remover, you know.”

Robby looked up, eyes sparkling despite the hangover, “Oh, shit, do you?”

Jon swallowed some feelings back and put his coffee down. Went to go dig around in the bathroom’s medicine cabinet for the bottle of remover. “I’ll even help you repaint them, if you want.” 

“You will?” Robby called down the hallway. Jon walked back with the little square bin he kept his nail things in and carefully sat down in the other chair across from Robby.

“Sure. Pick a color. I even have clear topcoat so you won’t be able to chip it to hell immediately.”

“Well, I get bored,” Robby said, like that explained anything, while he pawed through the colored bottles. 

“Me too, but I don’t take it out on my cuticles.” Jon told him. He put his chin in his palm, elbow resting on the tabletop. He smiled softly and watched when Robby pulled out a bright rusty orange polish, and a soft pastel pink. Sanguine and seashell, practically.

“You can pick for me.” Robby said while he soaked a cotton ball to remove the last bits of his red polish from his thumb and pinky. 

Jon quietly tried to pick out undertones in Robby’s skin without seeming like a freak who followed arbitrary beauty rules by compulsion alone, and then decided it probably didn’t matter. Robby dabbled in things like this because it made him happy. Jon did it because it was the only way he knew how to impress others, and he didn’t want to fuck it up. Jon shook up the orange bottle and unscrewed the cap. 

“Let’s do one for each hand then.” Jon said while he carefully took Robby’s left hand in his own. He didn’t look up, too focused on the careful pull of the polish brush to think about the flush that was on his face. He didn’t even want to see what Robby’s face was doing, just in case he wouldn’t be able to handle it. And, after a few moments, it was actually very nice. Robby was quiet, which Jon appreciated. And it was kind of meditative, to apply the colors on Robby’s nails, keeping it all neat and even. 

They were halfway through painting Robby’s left hand pink when his stomach growled. His orange hand was still drying, spread out flat against the tabletop.

“Sorry.” He said, not sounding very sorry. Ziggy sauntered out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. 

“I can make some toast for breakfast?” Jon suggested, still focusing on Robby’s nails. “Do you like sourdough? I don’t usually eat a ton in the mornings.”

Robby made a wounded noise, and nodded, “Of course I like sourdough. I’m not a monster.” 

Jon smiled a little bit, nodded to himself, and finished up painting Robby’s hand pink. He screwed the bottle shut again. Ziggy came back into the kitchen, jumped onto the table, and spit out a chewed up, thread-bare catnip mouse for Robby to admire. 

“Oh my god,” Robby said while Ziggy stepped over his arms and jumped off the table, leaving the toy behind for Robby to do with as he would.

“Don’t touch anything until they’re dry or you’ll break my heart.” Jon warned while he went to go find his bread knife in the drawer where he kept kitchen tools. He put a cast iron pan on the stove to heat up and sliced the bread.

“No toaster?” Robby asked. Jon waved the knife through the air, gesturing around the tiny kitchen. 

“Does it seem like I have the counter space to sacrifice for a toaster? You’ll get pan-toasted and say thank you.” Jon said, turned the flame down a little. Robby burst out laughing and scooted his chair sideways to watch Jon a little bit better. It was quiet in the apartment while the bread toasted. Jon allowed himself a sideways glance to the table, where Robby was sitting with his hands spread out, carefully not touching anything, grinning up at Jon unabashedly. Jon felt shy while he spread a layer of marmalade he found in the fridge over the toasts and organized them on a plate to share. Why wash two dishes later when one plate served just fine? Robby was biting a lip to keep from smiling too much, unmoving with his hands still flat.

“What?” Jon asked, swallowing a bite of his own toast. Robby looked evil, and delighted. 

“My nails are still wet.” He explained. Jon looked down, tried to judge if his nails were still wet. They looked glossy. Half dry and tacky to the touch, if anyone dared to touch at all. Jon glanced at Robby’s piece of toast on the plate, and then back up to his wicked grin.

So he picked up Robby’s toast around the edges of the crust and held it up over the tabletop. Held the breath caught in his lungs, too. Robby’s eyes sparkled and he leaned forward to take a bite out of the bread. Jon watched carefully while he chewed and swallowed, noted the bobbing of his throat. Robby licked a smudge of jam off his lip. 

Jon turned his wrist around and bit the corner of Robby’s toast off. He ate carefully, looked at Robby. Turned his hand back and held the toast out to feed Robby another bite and said, “You’re on your own with the coffee, just so you know.”

Robby used the back of his wrist to wipe along the side of his mouth. Nothing touched his nails.

“I kind of figured as much.” Robby looked up at Jon through his eyelashes, eyes all sweet and a little red from the hangover. “Could I have some more toast, though?” 

Jon lifted the toast up to feed him one more time, and one more time after that, and one more after _that_ too.  


* * *

  
Jon hadn’t been kissed in a long time. Like, an embarrassingly long time. But it wasn’t something one really forgets how to do. Something about bicycles and muscle memory went through Jon’s brain while Robby’s warm hand curled against the side of Jon’s neck. He licked behind Jon’s teeth, where everything tasted slightly sweet and then bitter from the orange marmalade. 

It’s hard to say if Robby was a different kind of kisser than Jon was used to. Jon wasn’t used to anything when it comes to Robby. He had thrown a leg over Jon’s thighs once the toast was all gone and now he was doing just fine on his own, holding onto Jon’s broad shoulders and grinding his hips down whenever he felt like it. Friction alone was going to burn Jon into a crisp, he was certain. Robby was confident but not aggressive, and Jon was more than happy to let Robby set the pace they were moving at. He’d let Robby decide what was happening, and Jon would take it from there. The push and pull of Jon leaning forward, holding Robby up by grabbing the backs of his thighs, and Robby pushing forward, eager to get his hands on Jon was more than enough for now.

Robby threw his head back when he needed to catch his breath, his weight shifting over Jon’s lap. Jon immediately leaned forward, chasing him, and began to suck a dark bruise behind the hinge of his jaw, below Robby’s ear where the skin was soft and thin. Jon wasn’t sure if a dark bruise was what he wanted, but the noises Robby was making seemed encouraging. Jon didn’t know how to begin putting what he wants into thought, let alone words, so he just let it wash over him. He was going to enjoy it before it was gone.

Robby’s dark hair was soft and silky and it fell between Jon’s fingers— Jon pet his hand through it in slow, rhythmless passes, keeping it pushed back out of Robby’s face. He was touching it only to have the excuse to touch Robby in a way that doesn’t burn him up from the inside out while they kissed.

Robby’s palm was pressed flat against the plane of Jon’s chest and under his pullover, the seam all bunched up against Robby’s wrist. Jon felt it when Robby’s fingertips flexed against his collarbone. 

“The tattoos are making me crazy,” Robby panted out against Jon’s red lips. “Just so you know.” 

Robby’s other hand let go of Jon’s shoulder, moved down to begin playing with the hem of the shirt, teasing it up centimeter by centimeter. 

“Wanna see ‘em?” Jon asked. Robby’s breath hitched and there was a brief pause of everything. Then Robby shoved Jon’s shirt up and off, over Jon’s head. He whipped it backwards, somewhere behind the couch. Jon heard Ziggy’s bell jingling as she ran out of the room, startled awake by the dropped shirt. He tried not to laugh. Robby sat back on his heels, weight dropped again Jon’s thighs while he panted and stared at Jon’s chest. The highlight of his chest piece was a dark skull, covered in shadows and scraps of fabric. He had gotten when he was eighteen and very interested in a type of pain he could be in charge of for a while. Robby traced around the edge of it, and followed the fabric across his ribs into where it morphed into a bouquet of roses with the thorns out that was tied up in a ribbon. The flowers bloomed around the lioness on his shoulder, framing her growling face nicely, and then grew down his arm into a delicate sleeve of falling petals and thorns. There was one more blooming rose on the back of his hand, but Robby had seen that before. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Robby breathed out, staring blatantly at the tattoos. Jon could feel where Robby was hard and pressed up against his abs. He just smiled up at him. And sure, Robby was smaller than Jon, but he was stronger. Robby pushed Jon sideways, knocked him flat on his back against the couch cushions, and leaned down to kiss Jon again, harder now. With more intent behind it.  


Jon just let Robby roll him back like it was the easiest thing in the world. 

* * *

  
On Sunday, Robby realized he had spent all weekend over at Jon’s on accident. Intentionally? Whatever. He had showered the consequences of their make-outs off his skin and borrowed a hoodie from Jon. Robby put his number in Jon’s phone and leaned up on his toes to kiss him goodbye. And then Jon was alone again. He tried tidying his apartment again, but lost interest and just collapsed on the couch with the TV. He was lounging for the rest of the day. By the afternoon, Ziggy was curled up on top of Jon and they were being lazy. Jon, at least, was watching a documentary. Something about the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum art heist, though he was barely retaining any information about it. Ziggy napped silently, warm and soft against Jon’s chest and underneath his chin. 

He pet Ziggy’s back, distracted idly by the memory of Robby’s pink and orange nails tracing the calico pattern on her back and sides. How sweetly she had pushed herself up into Robby’s hands, purring loudly while Jon made coffee and listened to Robby laugh. 

Without jostling the cat too much, Jon flipped a throw blanket around until his phone fell out and bounced against the cushions. He unlocked the screen, thumbed his way to Robby’s contact page, and edited the name so there were two hearts emojis after it, orange and pink respectively. 

Jon saved the information, turned his phone off entirely, and shoved the whole thing deep into the crease between the sofa’s cushions, never to be seen again.  


* * *

  
Jon did admire the boys' dedication to coming out every weekend. No one else was in the fucking bar, because it was dark and freezing rain outside. Jon was dreading going home. No sane person would want to come out to a bar in this weather, and yet here they all were, six bodies piled into their circular booth, red-faced and laughing and warmed through completely. It made Jon happy to see them there. He had been playing music he knew they liked all night, to keep the mood up.

Dylan and Filip and Anthony came up to the bar, and Jon put his paperback down to make the next round. Filip, though, flipped the little doorway that separated the bar from the sitting space and walked behind the bar like he belonged there. He snuck behind Jon and began pushing on his shoulders, guiding him forward and out of the bar. 

“Hey-- Hey, what’s--” Jon stammered while he was shoved out of the workspace.  
Anthony and Dylan each grabbed one of Jon’s hands and tugged him towards the booth with Filip behind them, making sure Jon didn’t run away. 

“Just come sit with us, you absolute weirdo.” Dylan insisted. “You deserve a spot over there, too!” Robby, Z, and Tyler were all shouting delightful things into the empty bar, shifting over each other slightly so there was space for Jon to sit. Anthony and Dylan dumped him on the bench and squeezed in beside him, trapping Jon in the middle of the bench next to Robby. 

“Hi,” Robby’s cheeks were red, flushed from either infatuation or booze. Jon couldn’t tell. 

“Hi, um--” Jon felt like he was in the midst of a tornado. Robby picked up Jon’s arm and slung it over his own shoulders. Robby was warm everywhere that he was tucked up against Jon’s side. Robby smiled brightly, his goofy too wide smile that showed off all of his teeth and made his eyes crinkle up, before he started giggling. He tucked his face into the side of Jon’s neck, which was baffling. Dylan was just nodding, wise and sagely, when Jon looked over to him for help. Tyler was grinning like a madman, his laugh bouncing loudly around over their heads. Z collapsed into Tyler’s side and Filip arrived with a bottle in one hand and a line of shot glasses pressed between his forearm and his ribcage. Everyone cheered. 

Jon watched from across the table while Anthony helped Filip organize the shot glasses all in a line. Robby elbowed him gently in the ribs and handed the bottle of Absolut from behind the bar over.

“You gotta pour for us,” Robby insisted. Z made a big show of double checking there were enough shot glasses this time. There were, of course there were. 

Jon laughed, once, and then twice, unbelieving. He took the bottle from Filip and tipped it sideways, poured out seven even vodka shots and only spilled a little bit on the table when Robby and Tyler started jostling him out of excitement.  


* * *

  
The bar was busy and Jon was getting claustrophobic. The humid press of bodies was too much tonight. Some of the boys were here but that didn’t change the fact that Jon didn’t want to be there; Dylan and Anthony were animatedly talking about something. Both Filips was playing Jenga with Tyler. Jon didn’t like it, but he couldn’t help but notice Robby had been seemingly absent all night. Which was alright, he wasn’t obligated to come to the bar _every_ weekend, it’s just-- Jon had been hoping to see him again. 

The night was passing quickly, at least. Jon wanted to leave. Wanted to take a bath and pet Ziggy and go to sleep absurdly early, so he straightened his shoulders and made some cocktails for strangers about it. 

Years of working at the Temple had trained Jon to look up whenever he heard the specific creak of the front door; no welcome bell, just unoiled hinges. It was a pavlovian survey of who was in his bar now and a gauge for how long they’d stayed. Jon was pouring Tequila shots for a crowd of girls when he had glanced up. 

He almost didn’t recognize Robby-- his head was down, shoulders up. Every inch of him had been tensed up in a defensive posture that Jon recognized immediately from the amount of times he had had to wear it himself. He was wearing some old looking basketball shorts and a black zip-through hoodie. He was wearing Adidas slides in December, for God’s sake. Something wasn’t right. 

Robby didn’t look at the bar when he marched across the room and over to the booth. Jon watched when Dylan smiled to greet Robby and how quickly his face fell into something much more serious. Tyler’s shoulders evened out in a straight line while Robby explained… whatever was going on. Jon was too far away to hear. All of the boys suddenly seemed to tune into the same wavelength, and some sort of practiced game plan was being instigated just by the miserable appearance of Robby. Jon held onto a bottleneck of the Tequila tightly and saw Filip and Anthony shuffle together enough cash to pay for the drinks. Tyler threw an arm over Robby’s shoulders and stood himself in such a way that blocked Jon’s-- blocked most of the bar’s view-- of Robby. Anthony wove his way through the crowd, between the noisy crowd of Tequila girls at the bar, and held the crumpled bills out towards Jon.

“Everything alright over there?” Jon dared to ask, cautiously taking the bills.

“Yeah, yeah. Probably. Something’s up with Fabbs, we’re dipping a little early tonight to get him home. This is for Filip and Bert. You can keep whatever the change is, by the way. Take it as a tip.” Anthony said. Between the crowd of guests, Dylan and Tyler were sweeping Robby out of the bar and into the parking lot. Z threw back the last of his and someone else’s drink while Filip grabbed Anthony’s coat off the bench of their booth. Both of them hurried along behind Dylan and Tyler and Robby. Jon didn’t mention that Tyler had paid for his drink earlier and tipped Jon then.

“Is he… like, alright?” 

Anthony’s face got screwed up, indecisive, but then he said, “The basketball shorts aren’t a good sign. It’s like, that’s been his walk of shame outfit since college.”

Jon didn’t know what to say. He felt frozen, holding a crumpled handful of bills. Maybe the implication that Robby was hooking up with people shouldn’t have been so shocking, but it squeezed Jon’s heart hard enough for fissures to start spreading. Filip had ducked his head back inside the bar, scanning for Anthony. Jon turned to look at the door, and Anthony turned to see as well. Filip’s eyes were wide and serious and he cocked his head towards the drifts of snow outside, like he was trying to hurry Anthony along.

Anthony sighed and nodded. Turned to Jon and apologized. “Sorry, we’ll see you later, bud.”

“Right. Drive safe,” Jon said, lame as ever, and watched Anthony’s big shoulders disappear out the door as well.  


* * *

  
It seemed like life had gone back to normal. Routines settled in again, it’s just that now Robby wasn’t around. Every time he wanted to ask after him, Jon talked himself out of it. He didn’t come to the bar the last three times the rest of the boys did. Granted, those times were on weeknights, but they all seemed normal and Jon hadn’t seen Robby. He was gone, like a ghost, like the implication of him had never been there at all and Jon was actually going insane because Robby was a figment of his imagination.

And when Saturday rolled around, the one night of the week Jon had learned he could count on to see Robby, he wasn’t there. Everyone else was. Jon kept his eyes off the booth, not bearing to indulge in his own tender feelings. Though, there wasn’t much he could do when Tyler came up to the bar with his face straight. Jon hadn’t ever seen him be one to fake his feelings. 

Jon was expecting him to just order and head back to the booth, but Tyler sad down at one of the barstools, and spun a little bit. He had brought a hand up to idly check his nails, using his thumbnail to pick at his fingers. His cheekbones looked impossibly good and his greasy hair was shoved underneath a Carhartt toque. He smiled when Jon finally had a second to come check on him. 

“Hi, Bert.” Jon smiled back politely, trying to feign… normalcy, he guessed. “Can I get you anything?”

“Another beer would be great.” Tyler put his hands away and quickly blew some air through the gap where his tooth was missing, thinking hard about something. Jon pulled the draught of his pint and focused on that instead. 

“Have you been, like, alright, dude?” Tyler finally asked. Jon laid a napkin down on the bar instinctively before he handed Tyler his beer.

“Um,” Had he? Not really. “I’ve been okay.” 

“Yeah, but like, have you been _ alright_? You kind of look like shit lately, no offense.” 

Jon laughed bitterly and quickly, once, “Thanks. I’m really okay, I’ve just been feeling a little… ” 

Tired? Worried? Heartbroken? Trying to stay away before he got hurt even worse? All of that at once? Jon shrugged, vaguely, and hoped that was good enough. He just had been feeling a little bit too much, is all. And he hadn’t really planned on any of the boys coming to check on him. 

“Yeah but like, is something up?” Bert’s face was-- worried, but pulled in a hard line, at the same time. Like he wasn’t going to stop asking until Jon gave him a straight answer. It made Jon fidgety. 

“I’m worried about Robby, I guess.” Jon said. He picked up a dishrag and squeezed it between his fingers behind the bar, where Tyler would have had to crane his neck to see. Tyler’s eyebrows went up. 

“You’re--” Tyler started, and then stopped. Picked his words carefully. “How come?”

“He just, y’know, he hasn’t been here for a while.” Jon said. “And the last I saw, he was walking around in snowdrifts and sandals looking like he belonged to a frat house of frozen rats.” 

Tyler snorted and then smiled kind of sadly. “He’s okay, he’s just being a drama queen.”

Jon nodded a few times, quiet and not wanting to push for details. But suddenly, he remembered something. 

“Oh-- actually,” 

Tyler looked interested. 

“This is embarrassing, wait here for a second, though.” Jon said, rushing to get the words out of his mouth. “Please.”

Tyler gestured at his seat at the bar, at the implication that he wasn’t going anywhere, and Jon left the bar for the kitchen. Along the kitchen’s short hallway, there was a line of coat hooks where the staff kept their parkas hung up. He dug around in his jacket's inside pocket, feeling around blindly for the little paper bag that had been folded up in his coat’s lining for weeks. He sniffed it, once, just to be sure it was still good. Even through the paper envelope, the astringent smell made his sinuses burn in a familiar kind of way. He walked back to the bar with the little bag tucked within his hand. He held it out to Tyler, who wearily took it.

“Is this drugs?” He almost laughed, grinning stupidly. 

Jon felt his face go hot, but he carried on valiantly. “No, it’s-- uh, it’s epsom salts. I buy them in big packs from his old lady at the farmer’s market, she makes fancy soaps and stuff. Her name is Joan, um, anyways-- I use them a lot. You’re supposed to dissolve them in really hot baths to feel better, and like, I wanted to give this to Robby, because he looked kind of miserable and cold, but he hasn’t come in since then, so… ”

Tyler’s face looked up at Jon, realizing what he meant. “Jon--”

“So, like, it’s fine if you don’t want to-- but could you hand that off to him for me? If you get the chance?” Jon was embarrassed, but he didn’t want to forget again, and clearly Robby wasn’t coming back to the bar anytime soon, and Jon was weary to text him anything else after his last few texts had gone read and unreplied. Tyler looked shocked, and then evened his face out seriously and he tucked the little packet of salts into his pocket. 

“I’ll make sure he gets it, don’t worry.” 

“Thanks, Bert.” Jon was relieved, but still kind of mortified about it. Tyler gave Jon a look-- something presumably meaningful, but just came across as a little intense and frightening-- and he picked up his beer and went back to join Dylan and Anthony at their booth.  


* * *

  
Joe and Gus came into the bar once a week, every week, and usually on Thursdays in the late afternoon, before the evening rush came through. The first time they came, Jon had been pretty sure that they handed him at least one fake ID, but probably two. The second time they showed up, they either had gotten better fakes, went to the Secretary of State, or suddenly turned legal in the timespan of a week. Jon didn’t want to bother them about it, though, because he-- well, he just liked them. They were young and, from what he had picked up on from context clues, their lives kind of sucked. They both were undergraduates going to WSU down the road. Gus was an exchange student from Sweden with no real connections in this country, aside from Joe, and Joe didn’t speak to his family anymore because they refused to support their kid after he said he was gay. Joe worked construction jobs around Detroit and Gus had mentioned a part time job once on top of his classes but didn’t elaborate. Jon didn’t press for details, because he had been a lonely kid working too many weird jobs to stay alive too, and he understood. He was just happy to give the kids a space for their weekly date.

“Hi, Jon!” Gus smiled and waved when they walked inside. Joe just smiled, goofy as ever with his front teeth still busted out. There was a smaller table for two that they sat at every time they came in, but tonight they just came up to the bar and ordered. 

“Hi, babies. How was class this week?” Jon asked while he got their pints of beer ready. He was tired, today. Had been tired all week. 

“Long and shitty.” Joe said. Jon nodded empathetically.

“Well, mine were great, my Anthropology class got to go to the art museum yesterday.” Gus said. That made Jon happy, at least. 

“Any food tonight? Or waiting for later?” 

Gus started feeling around for his wallet, and pulled out a twenty dollar bill and his ID. Jon didn’t really need to check it anymore, not now that he knew them both, but he indulged Gus anyways. He looked murderous as ever in the photo. October 20th, 1998, allegedly, so he was fine. Little libra weirdo. Jon handed it back over and got them their change for the two beers. Joe put his hand around Gus’ waist. 

“Later. We wanna get in some rounds of darts first.”

Jon nodded agreeably. They played darts a lot; Gus was terrible at it, but Joe always let him win. It was charming to watch. 

“Just don’t poke anyone’s eye out, please.” 

Gus ran ahead to tug the darts out of the corkboard and Joe took their beers away with him to their table, grinning at Jon before he made his way through the sparse afternoon crowd. 

Jon would have been ten when Gus was born, which just made Jon feel old. When he was their age now, he was sleeping on the couches of people who barely knew him and had been living in a perpetual state of minor emotional desperation for two years and a half, making bars howl with laughter at night and starving himself during the day. He was pretty sure, at least, that Joe and Gus had an apartment together and were more stable than Jon could have dared of being when he was in his early twenties. So, he wasn’t jealous, exactly, but it was a bit of personal relief to see them every week and know they were still doing well, all things considered. 

Jon pretended to count the cash in the register. Watched when Joe carefully aimed his darts at the ring just outside of whichever one Gus had landed in. Gus leaned down over Joe’s shoulder and whispered something which made Joe smile, wide and respectably toothless. Joe would elbow him in the ribs and they’d both laugh. Joe hit the bull’s eye with his final dart and Gus shouted about it, both of them laughing when they clutched at each other’s sleeves and jumped in place about it. 

They were so sweet with each other, Jon finally turned away when it seemed like Joe was heckling Gus for a kiss. He loved these kids, he wasn’t envious, but his heart felt heavier, suddenly. The way Joe smiled up Gus, all crooked and kind of stupid… it was embarrassing, how quickly Robby’s own goofy smile flashed through Jon’s mind. When he remembered how good it felt to sit in the big circle booth with Robby tucked up underneath his arm. How quickly it was replaced with the singular glimpse he had of how uncomfortable Robby looked when he hid behind Dylan and Tyler while they escaped him out to the parking lot. He had purposefully avoided Jon’s worried stare. 

Jon wiped down the bar counter with alarming intensity to distract himself. 

It is just, like, he could have gone without Anthony explaining it the way he had. _A walk of shame outfit._ What Robby did was ultimately none of Jon’s business, as much as he hoped for that to be otherwise. Robby didn’t owe Jon an explanation if he was hooking up with random strangers, or had a new person he was interested in. Jon was just the guy standing behind the bar at the end of the night. It was ridiculous and stupid of him to have even presumed… anything, really. In fact, if he turned the view around, the boys and Robby all probably thought he looked like a desperate fool. 

Jon had been burnt before; he wasn’t sure he could handle another one-sided heartbreak, despite how frequently he convinced himself he was fine on his own. He was okay being alone. He wasn’t happy, nor really felt particularly alive, but he could survive. He was good at surviving. Jon had been okay before the boys tried to fold him into their group, and he’d be okay after he cut himself out, after he stopped himself from intruding on them again. Jon could take the hint and save himself before it got shitty again. 

So everything would be fine, he’d just be… bruised up about it. Probably for a long time. But that’s just the way it was going to have to be.  


* * *

  
Jon’s phone vibrated where it was sitting on the kitchen counter. He saw the dots of orange and pink when he went to pick it up, and then paused. Decided to ignore it. Yeah, that was smart. He just wasn’t gonna look at it. 

He walked into the living room, scooped up Ziggy from where she was sleeping and pressed his face against her side. She complained at him but settled nicely in his arms. Jon paced around the front room a bit, and then went back into the kitchen. Then back to the front room. Ziggy purred and kneaded her paws against Jon’s chest.

“I shouldn’t look at it, right?” He asked. Ziggy just wiggled out of his hands. She dragged herself up and over Jon’s shoulders, and jumped down off his neck. She sauntered into the kitchen. Jon sighed, and followed her. He picked up the phone and swiped at it to unlock the message.

Robby💗🧡  
  
**Today** 3:02 pM  
Your buildings front buzzer is still fucked up haha  
Idk if there’s any noise but  
  
I’m outside I guess  
Can you please let me up please  
  


Jon carefully locked his phone and put it down again. He took a few breaths. Rubbed the heels of his hands deep into his eye sockets and exhaled. When he took his hands away, there were little smudged curves of black, where his kohl had rubbed off. He paced around, checked a spare mirror. He looked fine. He shook out his hands, rubbed them down the sides of his jeans, and pressed the buzzer by his front door that unlocked the building’s main entrance. He undid the deadbolt on his door. Waited carefully in front of it, his hand hovering over the doorknob until he saw a shadow below the crack and heard a gentle knock. Jon pried the door open just enough to talk and blocked the view inside. 

“What do you want?” Jon tried not to sound cold and accusatory, but, well… 

“I came to… to apologize.” Robby said. Jon stood in the crack of the doorway, hand up against the side of the open door’s edge, not yet ready to let him inside.

“Okay.” Jon said. 

“Can I come inside?” 

Jon had no idea what to do in this situation. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Robby, it’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not. I didn’t--”

Jon felt like he was carved of marble, doomed to stand in this strange half-step pose in his apartment’s doorway. Or, at least, for the rest of the time Robby was speaking to him.

“You don’t have to expl--” Jon tried to insist. Robby shook his head. 

“I didn’t want to fuck this up and then I did anyways, because I’m an asshole. Can I come inside, or am I gonna have to spill my guts in your hallway?”

Suddenly, Jon could move. He stepped backwards and sideways and let Robby inside the apartment. He looked small, pressed in on himself nervously. Ziggy immediately ran up to greet him after the door closed. She rubbed her sides up against Robby’s legs.

“You’re not an asshole. You don’t owe me anything.” Jon said, sighed. Robby nodded, fidgeted with the hem of his coat sleeve.

“You know I didn’t sleep with anyone, right?” Robby asked, sounding a little desperate. That made Jon pause. 

“But, I thought… Anthony said--”

Robby looked acutely miserable, wincing at Anthony’s name. “I went home with a guy, because I was bored and figured it’d be-- y’know, it’d be fine. And like, I dunno, he kind of looked like you, but he wasn’t _you_ and I just felt weird and like… sick, the whole way there. Like, I really thought I was gonna vomit or something the whole time.”

Robby was staring at the whorls in the wooden floorboards. Jon didn’t know what to say. 

“So I-- y’know, I said no and he backed off and everything but… I was dressed nice and he lived nearby so I thought it’d be okay to walk but then I couldn’t because-- like, four blocks? In my stupid fucking heels and a blouse? And the ice? I wasn’t gonna do that so I stole a pair of shoes and some clothes that wouldn’t get ruined in the snow, and I just--” Robby’s voice faltered.

“I just didn’t want to be there anymore.” He added on quietly.

Jon knew he was making a face. He couldn’t help it. 

“And like, obviously, I got to the bar but I realized I felt sick because it felt like I was-- like, cheating, or something. Even though we aren’t-- we haven’t talked about it? And I knew you were in there but I also knew Dylan would give me a ride home, at least, if I asked. And Tyler gave me the, the bath things from you and yelled at me all day to fix everything because--” 

“Because?”

Robby’s eyes looked red-rimmed. He shrugged. “You deserved better than that.”

It was hard to speak past the tight knot in his throat, but he had to say something. 

“You didn’t want to see me after all of that?” Jon finally asked.

“No, not then.”

“Okay.” Jon said. He moved to sit down and think about everything. To figure out if that was the rejection he’d been bracing for, or not. He rubbed at his eyes and was a little shocked that his fingertips came away damp. 

“Jon.” Robby sounded heartbroken. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, um. I should probably be asking you that, I guess.” Jon said. Robby looked fully distraught, and he dropped down to sit next to Jon on the couch. He looked like he wanted to reach out, to touch Jon, but he didn’t.

“Jon, I’m so sorry. Please don’t cry.” 

“I’m not crying.” Jon said, swiping another hand under his eye. 

Robby’s hands faltered, and then he gave up and pulled Jon in for a hug. 

“I’m sorry.” He repeated. Jon shook his head and pressed his face against Robby’s shoulders.

“You didn’t do anything, it’s okay.” 

“Is it?” Robby looked way more concerned than anyone had the right to. 

“When I was, like, a teenager I lived on my own, basically, and got messed up with this really awful guy.” Jon tried to explain, “He was way too old. For me. Also he was married and never told me, which is a different story. But he kind of-- I don’t want to be melodramatic but he kind of ruined my life. But it made me really… envious. And-- and lonely. And I’m not-- I know I’m not a great person to like, be in a relationship with because of that.”

Robby put a hand on the nape of Jon’s neck, flat and warm. Grounding. Jon’s voice broke.

“But I like you so much, and the boys too, and I don’t-- I don’t want you to leave. But I just need you to know that, I’m not-- I don’t know if I’ll ever get any better, or like, prettier or less weird than I am now. So, um, that’s fine. I’m fine but, I get it, that you would want to be… not with me.” 

Jon didn’t know what to expect when he looked at Robby. He didn’t even know what to hope for. He was scared to lift his head off Robby’s shoulder and have his worst fears confirmed and see Robby stand and walk out the door. 

He put a hand on Jon’s neck and guided him up. Jon cleared his throat and blinked a few times, tried to get the tears out of his eyelashes. Robby still looked distraught, vaguely distressed, but he was smiling, at least a little bit.

“That’s a really stupid way of thinking, babe.” He said.

Jon wiped his face one more time and nodded. Robby rubbed a hand up and down Jon’s spine. 

“I don’t think I can help it, I know I’m too--” Jon couldn’t make himself finish that sentence.

“I don’t think I care about that.” Robby said. Jon froze up.

“Don’t.” Jon warned. Robby just laughed with a wet hiccup. 

“I mean-- I’m sorry that happened, and we can-- y’know, deal with it more later, but… I’m definitely not married and the last thing I want to do is ruin your life. Like, I don’t know if you know this, but I already like you way too much. As you already are.” 

Jon was pretty sure if he spoke again he’d start sobbing for real, and ruin the pretty patterned shirt Robby was wearing because he cried his eyeliner off onto it. So he nodded one more time. 

“So you don’t need to, to become better, for me, or whatever. You’re already fine, Jon. I already like you so much it’s kind of nasty.”

Robby shifted everything around, so he was closer and closer to Jon, practically in his lap and lifting his head up. 

“Like, we can be okay. We will be okay, if we wanna be.” Robby promised him. Ziggy had jumped onto the couch now, upset that both of them had gone so long without paying any attention to her. Jon choked back a sob, or a laugh, or maybe something else. He scratched Ziggy behind her ears and she twisted around strangely to lick the side of Jon’s thumb, tongue all scratchy and rough like sandpaper.

“Can we?” Jon finally asked after he got himself together a little bit. Robby threw his arms over Jon’s shoulder and pulled him and Ziggy both in for a hug. He kissed Jon’s cheek.

“We totally can.” Robby promised him.  


* * *

  
The bar was busy, and the streets of Detroit were essentially a speed skating track at this point with how icey they were, even though it was past the new year and things were meant to be warming up soon. But Jon was happier than he had been in a very long time. He was behind his bar, handing off two cocktails to a couple who traded him the cash for both drinks. When they left, he spared a glance towards the big booth in the corner, just to check-in. Filip had Anthony in a headlock, somehow, and Dylan was watching them, all red faced and silly and happy. 

Tyler glanced up, noticed Jon watching, and elbowed Robby hard in the ribs. From across the room, he could see the bitchy annoyed look on Robby’s face when he turned in and asked _ what!?_

Tyler just laughed and pointed towards the bar. Robby’s eyes followed where he was pointing, and his face lit up when he saw Jon. 

Jimmy tapped Jon’s shoulder when he passed behind him at the bar. “Hey, go take your break, Jon, I just clocked in.”

“You sure?” Jon gently set a rag down behind the bar. Jimmy nodded, smiled, and kicked Jon out from behind the bar. 

Robby and Z noticed Jon walking over towards the bar first, and audibly cheered once he arrived. Athony and Dylan scooted out of the bench, making room in the middle for Jon to squeeze in next to Robby. 

“About fucking time you got a break, bud.” Dylan said, shifting back into his spot along the bench. He reached over and ruffled up Jon’s short hair. 

“No one else was gonna be behind the bar until Howie showed up! I had to keep a riot at bay tonight.” Jon said, smiling. Anthony shoved a cocktail in his face. 

“Jon you didn’t give me a rum floater for my Pina Colada.” Enough of the drink was gone for Jon to guess exactly how light and silly Mo felt. 

“Oh, that’s heartbreaking, Mo. Really.”

A weight dropped down on Jon’s shoulder, and he turned to see Robby, flushed and eyebrows furrowed. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” Jon said, still grinning. Robby lightened up immediately. He leaned up on the bench, and gave Jon a kiss, quick and chaste. A sweet hello. 

“Hi, babe. Are you done-done or just here for a minute?” Robby tucked his face down against Jon’s shoulder once more, getting comfortable. 

Heads turned, and they all glanced over towards the bar, where Jimmy was busy chatting with some waifs and stirring two drinks with the long bar-spoons, theatrical. 

Jon settled down against the booth’s leather bench. It really was so uncomfortable. He was so happy to be squished in along the bench. He reached out for Robby’s drink-- a Negroni with a lemon twist, tonight-- and had a sip. It was delicious. He did a great job.

“Let’s see how long I can get away with not being there before he realizes.” Jon said. Robby kissed his neck, subtle and quick, and sat up against the bench to bother one of the boys into getting a round of shots for the table.


End file.
